Dear Suzy Zuzu Zooey Mae,
On Saturday morning (at 8:42am), you will be three years old. THREE. This probably wasn’t as shocking for you to realize as it was for me, because you’ve been doing your darnedest to convince everyone you were three for roughly two years now. You’ve come a long way from being the peaceful newborn with the shock of white-blonde curls mistakenly being carted down to the NICU (with your sleep-deprived father in backwards pajama pants careening after you and shouting something like- “I’ll have your badge for this”)!
But now that it’s all number official, I’d like to tell you something that I probably don’t mention nearly enough during your waking hours: I admire you so much.
Not just for the obvious reasons – like your braveness and your teensy tinsey little gymnast strength- even though those are downright insane. (Please don’t let the fact that your mother needed to be rescued from atop the monkey bars multiple times in fifth grade nor the fact that she is still unable to be upside down keep you from vaulting towards great things. But you have to be understanding if she doesn’t always look, yeah?)
No, the stuff you may not know is how much I treasure your empathetic little heart. If someone’s hurt, you’re the first one there with a lovie and a soothing “It’s okay, sweetheart,” sometimes sadly retelling the tragic incident for months after the fact.
Or how you watch and listen and see how it’s really supposed to be done- so that mistake you made back then? It’s only gonna be made once. You’re a surprisingly quick learner and pick up on things we (erroneously) believe were mentioned in quiet conversation. (Rookie mistake. Which, when made with the second child, is a serious rookie mistake.)
And that way your mind works and how we can see it shifting gears to process the (sometimes overwhelming) information that gets flung at you during the course of a week. Yes, you love your best friend at preschool, but no, sometimes it has to be okay when someone else holds Margot’s hand. Yes, sometimes the ice cream truck is gone by the time you (and your sister) finish dawdling and eat your dinner, but no, we can’t solve that with a different treat. (Unless you play your father like a tambourine and convince him that he needs popcorn. Ahem.)
But here’s the biggest reason I admire you more and more each day, my Susannah Buttercup: Even though I’m your Mom and veeeery few people will ever love you as much as I do in that unconditional, despite all exhaustion way…it’s easy to see how beloved you are by so many, and how effortlessly you invite (and create) love.
So I’ll say it yet again- you’re gonna be just fine in life. And when you’re not, you’ll find a way to fix it. And when you can’t, you can always find a sympathetic shoulder and ear and pair of arms in me.
And unless you’re asking about safety harnesses and bungee cords, I’ll probably be a super calm listener friend.
Love always,
Mom
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